


Reign of Fire

by oh_you_pretty_things



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Emotional Manipulation, Evil!Hiccup, Gen, Infidelity, Past Abuse, Past Violence, Sexual Content, Twisted Hiccstrid, depressed Snotlout
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-19
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-02-26 05:56:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2640590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_you_pretty_things/pseuds/oh_you_pretty_things
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten years after Hiccup and Toothless escape the fray in the Kill Ring during HTTYD, Hiccup returns to Berk. Altered. Evil!Hiccup AU. (Originally started on tumblr.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Berk. Once, a long time ago, it was his home. He grew up here, amongst the craggy cliffs and endlessly green trees. He grew up here, somewhere between dragon raids and the steady and constant glare of his father. His father. How long had it been that Hiccup had even thought about his father? Months? _Years_? The muscles of his mouth worked, an awkward, hard line somewhere between a grin and a grimace. The most he was capable of these days. There’d been nerve damage from that wound, deep enough to mar his face from temple to lip, the puckered, puce scar a daily reminder of what was _his._

But none of this mattered anymore. He was back and soon he would have _everything_.

“Toothless,” he said, his voice rasping through numb lips.

The dragon joined him, sidling up with feline grace and deadly silence. Night Furies were aptly named. Nothing else moved like a Night Fury; nothing else killed like a Night Fury. Hiccup’s hand came up and rested lightly on Toothless’ snout, still careful and gentle, even after everything they’d been through together. Even _despite_ everything they’d been through together.

“Do you remember Berk, bud?”

The dragon released a low, growling warble and Hiccup huffed without mirth. “My thoughts exactly. But soon,” he paused, inhaling the fog-thick air deeply as their ship approached the imposing cliffs of Berk, “Soon it will be _ours_.”

oOoOoOoOo

Hiccup expected the port to be as it was – recently rebuilt with Stoick the Vast waiting for the ship’s arrival. Toothless was below deck; it was safer that way. The Berkians had no love of dragons. Hiccup would have to _show_ them, but not yet. His flight mask was pulled down, obscuring his face from those that waited on shore: the chief, his one-legged heir, and the heir’s wife, he assumed. Familiar faces who had all seen better days. Hiccup had seen better days, too. They’d all seen better days.

Somewhere deep in his chest, his heart gave a long forgotten jolt. That was his father, his cousin, and his _love_. Hiccup scoffed. Love. The fantasies of a fifteen year old boy were lost in the high seas. Lost to cruelty and pain. He’d always remember that. These people didn’t know the true meaning of pain or loss or _agony_. And where was his love then? Living comfortably on Berk, cozying up to his cousin, preparing to be wife to the future chief. Hiccup didn’t allow himself to consider whether she would have been _his_ wife. Of course she would have been – power is absolute. Power completes. Astrid had always known who she was; Astrid had always understood power.

The ship glided into port, soundless and without the slightest ripple in the water. Hiccup stood at the bow, painfully stretching his mouth into that rigid line he thought of as a smile. He was _home_ , he thought as the ship clunked quietly against the dock. No one moved a muscle – not Stoick nor Snotlout nor Astrid. Not the Berkians that had come to the cliff side, curious and ready to burst into action if needed. Certainly not Hiccup. Tension crackled between the ship and the dock, a thick, palpable chain tethering those on shore to Hiccup. These were _his_ people and he intended to have them all.

Raising his empty hands Hiccup walked to the side of the ship, his eyes not missing how quickly Astrid raised her axe nor how Snotlout’s hand rested loosely on the hilt of his sword.

“I come in peace,” he said, voice hissing through his mask.

Stoick frowned and Hiccup knew that expression with raw certainty. The chief was sizing up their visitor and assessing the risks. Hiccup knew which risks he was assessing, what factors he was considering. After all, it should be _him_ standing where Snotlout stood. It should _him_ who flanked the chief.

“What brings you to Berk, stranger?” Stoick said at last, his voice carefully even.

Hiccup dropped his hands to his sides. There were more words that the chief wasn’t saying. What brings you here in the dead of winter? What do you want? Who are you? They were all there, nestled in between the words he did say.

“I am no stranger,” Hiccup said at length, reaching up to push his mask back, “And I hear you have a problem with dragons.”

It was the widening of his father’s eyes, the way Snotlout’s mouth fell open, and the sharp gasp that escaped Astrid’s lips that pleased him most. It was the _agony_ that they displayed so openly that quickened his pulse.

“Hiccup? Oh gods, _Hiccup_ ,” Stoick gasped, stumbling toward the ship.

Hiccup looked down at his father, at the tears shining in his eyes, and felt half his mouth rise in the ghost of a smile. He never thought it would be this _easy._


	2. Chapter 2

Ten years had come and gone since Hiccup had been here last. Ten years since he’d chosen the Night Fury over his tribe. It was fascinating how little had changed in his absence. The paths and roads that he had run through as a boy waited for him to stretch his limbs and weave down them again; the village proper stood in the same arrangement of halls as it had for over three great centuries; the Great Hall still stood, forever engrained amongst the cliffs that punctuated Berk, a stronghold like no other.

Inside the Great Hall, Stoick boomed to anyone who would listen about the return of his assumed dead son. And though a few faces eyed Hiccup with speculations, the vast majority of Berkians were receptive to their long lost heir. Friendlier faces than Hiccup ever remembered laugh and jeered; warm hands thumped fondly on his back. They plied him with mead and Hiccup told them what they wanted to hear: tales of adventure on the high seas, punctuated with jokes he didn’t mean and laughter that never reached his eyes.

He left out the ugly parts: the truth behind what happens to a skinny teenaged boy on a ship full of men; the trapping and massacre of dragons; the iron fist of Drago Bludvist. For what did Stoick the Vast care about his past hardships? What did Hiccup care about them? The past had passed; the past was dead. Under the table, his fingers curled into his palm forming the fist that kept him present. This was Berk. This was his.

Although Hiccup pretended not to notice, he felt Astrid’s piercing blue eyes watching him. Every drink he took; every joke he told, she watched. Stoick rambled and cheered, growing drunker and more foolish as the night wore on. His son was home and by the way he was behaving, Hiccup could almost believe that this was a good thing. That is, if he didn’t know better. And he knew better. His cousin said nothing – quite a feat if Hiccup’s memory served correctly, and it always did.

Hiccup’s eyes fell idly to the tarnished silver band on Astrid’s finger. Her hand curve around a tankard of mead and rested there. When he lifted his eyes, he found Astrid scowling at him. Such a pretty little scowl. Hiccup had almost forgotten how pretty. She was rougher now, harder around the edges, but that had diminished her charm. It had never been about her face anyway. It was the fire behind her eyes that he’d loved.

He remembered when it had become his fire, how deflating the whole experience had been. He’d done no great deed; he’d only saved a dragon’s life. A coward’s choice was all it had taken to sway her heart. Hiccup flicked his eyes to his cousin, blue eyes rimmed with dark circles, dark hair limp. Time hadn’t been so kind to Snotlout, he was fading around the edges. It was said that some men couldn’t cope with the loss of a limb, Hiccup thought as he considered the unyielding, uncomplicated stick of a replacement he had. Some men couldn’t walk away from agony and survive with their minds intact. Hiccup had, but Hiccup was somewhat extraordinary. Even he could admit that without a false sense of pride. Still, looking at his cousin’s miserable face in the wake of getting everything he’d ever wanted – status, honour, Astrid - perhaps Hiccup had been wrong about Snotlout. Perhaps he did know something of loss, after all.

Once his father had taken to blubbering into the shoulder of his armour, reminiscing about a much happier childhood than Hiccup remembered, he’d decided that he’d had enough for one night. There was only so much he could take; so much talking and touching and kindness. Stretching out his arms in a pantomime of what he could have been had things been different – light and funny and bright – Hiccup stifled a yawn.

“It’s been a long night,” he said, his voice lilting in a way that reminded him of better times. It disgusted him that he could still sound like that. It disgusted him further that they all believed it.

“Right. Yes. Come back to the Hall, Hiccup. I’ve kept your room the same,” Stoick said, heavy hand on Hiccup’s shoulder.

He was still vast and the weight of his arm wrenched on Hiccup’s weak shoulder. It was a struggle to maintain an even expression, knowing full well that Astrid missed nothing. He looked directly at her and gave her a half-smile through hooded eyes. It was a smile that spoke volumes about who he was now, about what he knew, about who he’d known. Astrid’s eyes widened, a flush spreading across her cheeks, rose against alabaster and sweet freckles. Her lips parted with a sharp intake of breath and she looked away, curling her tankard into her body, candlelight flashing off that ring. Hiccup was not the same boy she knew and now she’d seen it in his eyes. The loss of innocence; the knowledge of carnal pleasures; matters of the body that neither of them had known when they’d last spoken, before he’d walked into the Kill Ring. Before he’d left for worse places than Berk. Hiccup didn’t know where she stood in her marriage to Snotlout, but if he had to guess, she was unhappy in her marriage. Astrid and Snotlout had been a smart match on paper, but a disastrous match in person. Hiccup wondered if that had changed. He doubted it. But, it was no matter; she was his anyway and Hiccup intended to collect on all that was his.

He looked up at his father from his seat. “I wouldn’t want to intrude,” Hiccup said, words humble and eyes earnest.

“Intrude!” Stoick boomed, his big voice betraying a hint of hurt. Hiccup suppressed a bitter smile.

“This is your home, son. Berk is your home.”

Hiccup stood up, ready for the hardest part of the performance. Tears came easily – a trick he’d learned from a whore in León to help ward off unwanted attention. If he was pretty like a girl, she told him, then there would be men who would treat him as such and he should do everything in his power to utilize their pity. Potent advice that had changed everything. There was power in vulnerability, she taught him and he never forgot.

With a trembling bottom lip and shaking voice, tears teasing the corners of his eyes, he said:

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Oh, son. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” Stoick said, engulfing Hiccup in his arms.

His face safely hidden in the immensity of Stoick the Vast, Hiccup grim smile stretched out tightly across his scarred face. This was even better than expected.


	3. Chapter 3

At some point, Hiccup expected to _feel_ something. He expected to waver. He thought it would be at the moment he entered his childhood bedroom, the headquarters of so many of his schemes and ideas; the safest place he’d ever known. When Stoick had walked his son into his old room, blubbing senselessly about how he’d kept it the same for him, all these years, Hiccup was surprised when he felt _nothing_. Not a whisper of warmth; not a hint of happiness. The room, small and relatively barren, was just a room. The bed was too small and foreign; the desk in the corner was littered with dusty drawings of unrealized inventions. This was the room of a boy who had the whole world in his hands and threw it all away for a dragon. This was the room of someone Hiccup didn’t even recognize.

He waited, biding his time cross-legged on the floor, eyes closed and hands resting on his knees limply. Meditation was the essential training of the mind; the clearing of thoughts and emotions; the act of just _being_. It kept him pure. It kept him focused on the task at hand. Berk was a task, after all. A piece of a larger puzzle. The last missing piece. His objective was personal – the mastery of what should be his in the face of all that he had already overcome. Hiccup’s eyes opened when the muffled vibration of his father’s snoring filtered through the heavy wood door.

Without a sound, he crossed the room and slid out the open window, clamoring down the rooftop in an act that was so familiar he didn’t even think about it. The house could have changed in ten years, but Hiccup’s footing hadn’t. He landed on the hard ground in a graceful crouch, far more deftly than he’d ever landed from the rooftop before.  He stretched to his full upright height and took in the hall that had been his home. It was a house, wooden and foreboding, the house of a chief. It was nothing more than that; nothing greater.

Hiccup strode through the sleeping village with sure, silent feet. His first priority was to feed Toothless. Hunting and fishing hadn’t been a problem while on the seas, but Hiccup had forbidden it the closer they’d gotten to Berk. The last thing Hiccup needed to lose now was his purpose, the only purpose he’d had for ten years, the only thing that had gotten him through that _Hel_. The dragon was, arguably, the only living creature on Earth that Hiccup cared about.

With stealth learned long ago, Hiccup stole into the longhouse and gathered a selection of smoked fish, carefully avoiding eel. Toothless wouldn’t be happy with the selection, but he and Hiccup knew what it was to have no food at all; smoked fish would be sufficient for now. It was in leaving the longhouse that he finally heard her. He’d known she’d been following – it was in her nature to be suspicious; it was in her nature to investigate. The hard line of his smile was lost in the darkness and Hiccup made his way deliberately toward his ship. He knew he wouldn’t have to wait long for her to show herself, it wasn’t in her to just watch.

Hiccup climbed aboard his ship, lonely and desolate at the port amongst larger, more impressive war ships. This ship’s purpose had never been war. This ship’s purpose had been to capture, to dominate, to _rule_. Hiccup set down the basket of fish and cranked the winch to open the lower compartment. Toothless would be outraged, completely and quite justly. The dragon couldn’t abide by confinement and Hiccup had been gone too long. Even still, Hiccup had only opened the compartment enough to allow a human to enter and not a dragon to escape.

A sliver of moonlight caught the brilliant sheen of one enormous eye and Hiccup’s hard smile appeared fondly.

“Hey bud. Sorry I took so long,” Hiccup said, reaching for the basket before easing himself through the opening.

Toothless stormed around him, thwacking him in the head with the good fin of his tail.

“I know,” Hiccup breathed, “I know.”

In a valiant attempt at a peace offering, Hiccup spilled the contents of the basket onto the floor of the ship, Toothless immediately nosing distastefully at the dried fish. He glared at Hiccup, a silent reminder that he was blatantly unimpressed with the selection, but then ate it anyway. Choice had not always been available to them and they ate when they could.

Hiccup watched Toothless idly, toying with the ties of his armour. Slowly, knowing that a pair of keen blue eyes were watching, Hiccup began to undress. He started with the bracers, tossing them to the ground with measured force, the slap of leather and metal against wood causing Toothless to glance at him. Hiccup kept his eyes on the dragon as he removed his pauldrons, watching the dragon’s pupils narrow as he became aware of their visitor.

Toothless started, but darted his eyes toward Hiccup before attacking. The dragon remembered the girl who had once ridden on his back; the girl his rider had loved. Hiccup raised his eyebrows at the dragon, who subsequently snorted and returned to eating fish. Toothless had never been interested in human mating and it was clear that Hiccup wasn’t concerned nor in any particular danger. Hiccup undid his vest and dropped it onto the ground, rolling his shoulders and shifting his tunic against his skin. The air was chill and humid and Hiccup welcomed the damp coolness after the long day.

Above him, a board of the deck creaked under the weight of their yet unseen guest. Hiccup froze as though he’d been startled, smiling tightly at Toothless who gave a great roll of his eyes. Hiccup knew that Toothless didn’t always agree with his decisions, but whether he agreed or not, the dragon was always supportive. Hiccup did what was best for both of them. Time and time again it had been proven. After what seemed to be a reasonable period of silence from above, Hiccup pulled his tunic over his head and dropped it on top of his displaced armour. Angled so that the strip of moonlight spilling through the opening of the compartment might glow across the skin of his back, alighting the spindly webbing of silvery scars, Hiccup stretched and rolled his shoulders. And waited.

One delicate step and then another. Her hands on the edge of the compartment, considering, _deciding_. She shifted, the soft rustle of clothing not entirely lost to the uneasy water lapping at the side of the ship and Hiccup sighed.

“You may as well show yourself,” he said softly, “I know you’re there.”

There was a light, measured thump as her feet hit the floor behind him. Hiccup didn’t turn – he waited. He could hear her breathing, even and soft, at his back. A single, cool finger traced the long, curving scar of a lash that had gone too deep, from the base of his neck to the base of his spine.

“What happened to you?” she whispered, her voice pained and shuddering.

The corner of Hiccup’s lip twitched upward as he and Toothless exchanged a knowing look. Honestly, things couldn’t have been going better if he’d planned it.

And he had.


	4. Chapter 4

Hiccup let the words hang, each empty second lengthening the space – time, distance, _longing_ – between them, increasing the weight of Astrid’s question. The electricity in air was practically audible, crackling in sharp contrast to the soft sounds of their breathing and the gentle lapping of the water against the planks of the ship. The damp chill of winter in the Archipelago and the delicate, lingering touch of Astrid’s fingers on his spine sent a shiver down his back. This was dangerous territory. Dangerous but necessary.

Hiccup spared a glance for his dragon, who stared back with solemn, luminous eyes. Toothless was questioning the necessity. Hiccup could see it on that expressive face as clearly as if the dragon had learned to speak. _Is she worth it?_ Hiccup didn’t know the answer to that question. He knew what she was and who she was and how much he had wanted her in the past. He could read plainly on her face and on the face of his cousin that their marriage was unwanted, but that wasn’t so uncommon. He could have her. He _would_ have her.

“Hiccup,” she whispered hoarsely.

His eyes slid shut at the sound of her voice and he released a shuddering breath. He didn’t have to fake that one. Somewhere deep in his core, there was a boy who’d yearned to hear his name on her tongue, haunting and sweet. Hiccup let the boy have his moment; one singular, monumental moment before a sharp, even inhalation flushed him out again.

He turned with deliberation, knowing that the limited moonlight would glance across the reddened brand on his chest. Her ever observant eyes would catch it, he knew. She didn’t disappoint. But then again, when had Astrid Hofferson ever disappointed? Hiccup watched her puckered brow as she took in his scars, her breath escaping in shivering puffs. Objectively, she was attractive. The best in Berk, without a doubt. But now, seeing all he had seen, having traveled to all the varied destinations that he had, he could see that she wasn’t the best he’d ever seen.

Her eyes flicked up to his, wide and responsive. Seeking. The side of his mouth that could still execute a smiling upturn twitched. There was _something_ about her that made her stand out that had little to do with her physicality. Maybe it was the remnants of a dreaming, longing boy; the figments of a first love that drew him to her. Hiccup wanted Astrid. It was undeniable. Inevitable.

She lifted her hand and ghosted her palm over the brand that Drago Bludvist had etched into his chest the last time he’d tried to escape his bonds. Impulsively – something Hiccup could rarely claim to be anymore – he reached up and pressed her hand against his chest, holding her hand there and knowing she would feel the steady beat of his heart against her palm. Her shaky breathing increased in pace as her eyes searched his face.

“They thought you were dead,” she breathed.

“And you?”

Astrid blinked at him rapidly, the tell-tale shine of unshed tears in her eyes. She hesitated, biting her bottom lip tentatively before shaking her head.

“I knew you weren’t. You couldn’t be.”

Hiccup released a long breath, giving the appearance of having been holding on to one. He hadn’t been. The sigh only kept him from laughing. Because he certainly could be dead – _should_ be dead. A thousand times over. There was no such thing as destiny; no favour of the gods. Hiccup should know. He’d face enough horror in his short lifetime to know. He believed in making his own fate. He believed in taking back what was his.

He released her hand and bowed his head, glancing up at her sheepishly, a calculated pantomime of his past mannerisms. Predictably she ducked her head to catch his eye.

“Where have you been, Hiccup?”

He shrugged and gave her a disarming half-smile. “Here and there.”

Astrid frowned and acknowledged Toothless for the first time since she’d come down into the belly of the ship.

“Toothless?” she said, holding her palm out to the dragon.

Toothless glanced at Hiccup, seeking direction, permission. Hiccup inclined his head ever so slightly and Toothless pressed his nose into Astrid’s palm. Her resulting smile was radiant and Hiccup reconsidered his earlier assessment of her beauty. There were _elements_ to her that appealed.

Astrid’s hand rested idly on Toothless’ head as her eyes scanned the interior of the compartment.

“This is a dragon trapping ship,” she said more to herself than to him. She turned inquisitive eyes on Hiccup. “Are you a trapper?”

Hiccup snorted at that, genuinely. “No. Not me.”

“Then how—“

“Astrid,” Hiccup said quietly, cutting her words off.

It was the first time he’d said her name and the effect was immediate. Even in the darkness he could see the growing stain of blush across her cheeks. His smile crept up against his will. This was the best case scenario. He had never imagined that the situation with Astrid would be so _clean_ , so simple. Hiccup let the silence rest between them, comfortably charged, before continuing in a broken, falsely casual tone. He lowered his eyes and worried his bottom lip with his teeth.

“Snotlout, huh?”

Hiccup hazarded a peek at Astrid’s face only to find her expression had clouded over and hardened. Her hand went to the handle of the dirk that she carried at her hip, fingers toying with the fraying leather there.

“It wasn’t my idea,” she said darkly.

“It rarely is.”

“What?” she said sharply, narrowed eyes locked on him.

Hiccup shrugged and leaned against a post. “Marriage is often a matter of convenience, not—“

“Love,” Astrid said, her eyes widening at the sound of her own voice.

Again, the space between them filled with a building tension and a heavy silence.

“He waited, you know,” Astrid started, “Stoick. He waited for you. It wasn’t until—“

Hiccup tilted his head toward her. “Until?”

“There was a raid,” Astrid whispered, clearing her throat and starting again in a stronger voice, her eyes on Hiccup’s, “There was a raid two years ago. That’s when Snotlout lost his leg. And Fish and Tuff—”

She paused and rolled her eyes up to the ceiling, crossing her arms over her chest as though her body language could stop the facts of the past from existing. “Before that, I thought… I mean, I _knew_ that the Haddock bloodline would have to continue, but it seemed like Stoick had other thoughts,” Astrid shook her head and laughed mirthlessly, “It was stupid. Maybe that’s why—“

“You thought he’d name _you_ successor?” Hiccup asked gently.

Clear eyes met his and she shook her head wordlessly, ashamed of her own hopes. “That’s probably why he pushed the contract. The gods know I’d rather be a shield maiden for eternity than married to that idiot.”

Hiccup let his eyes slide down her figure, lingering on the lean line of her waist, the swell of her hips and the muscular curves of her thighs before gliding upward to her breasts and finally back on her face. His eyes met hers and he repeated the hooded look he’d given her over mead earlier.  Astrid hugged her arms into herself more closely.

“You’ve changed,” she murmured in a low voice.

“We all change.”

Astrid’s frown was conflicted. “Why didn’t you come back?”

Hiccup thought about his answer – there was no simple explanation. He’d tried, many times. He’d always intended to come back and finish what he’d started. Dragon trappers had never been in his plans. The darkness that existed outside of Berk had never once crossed his mind. Not until he was in the middle of it with all his opportunities slipping away from him. It had taken him eight years to escape his Hel and another two to build his empire before returning to Berk.

Astrid closed the distance between them, her hand falling on his bare arm. He looked at her small, pale hand, calloused fingertips and scarred, freckled skin.

“I would have come sooner,” he replied softly, “But I was unavoidably detained.”

“For ten years? Hiccup—“

He stared at her, mustering what was left of that injured teenager in his heart, wrenching him forward and making him visible. Only for Astrid. Because this was how it must be done. Astrid’s face fell and she took a step away from him, her hand falling away from his skin, the cold air shocking against the heated imprint of her hand.

“Oh gods,” she breathed, “ _Hiccup_.”

He forced a sad smile on the side of his face that would allow it. “Unavoidably detained,” he repeated.

The room felt closer now, as though it were only the two of them in all of Berk, in all of the world. Astrid took a shifting step toward him, hand outstretched. Hiccup knew it was now or never – he sidestepped her touch and crossed the space to the opening in the compartment, grabbing the ladder that rested against the wall and putting it in place against the lip of the opening.

Face turned away from her, he pushed out the words in a husky voice, “Your husband will miss you.”

“Hiccup,” she said, her voice close. Astrid’s fingers caught his chin and turned his face toward her, eyes impossibly cerulean in the dying midnight light. “Your father wasn’t the only one who was waiting. I put it off until this past harvest. It was as long as Spitelout would allow.”

Hiccup swallowed and chuckled bitterly, drawing the backs of his knuckles across her cheekbone tenderly. “That figures. Of course I missed you by mere _months_.”

Astrid opened her mouth to say something, but snapped it closed again, turning to climb the ladder. She climbed two rungs and paused.

“It hasn’t been consummated,” she murmured.

Hiccup stared at the back of her head, hair silvery in the moonlight, and tried to control the incredulous laugh that was bubbling up in his chest.

“What?”

Astrid twisted at the waist and looked at him over his shoulder, eyes resolute. “I haven’t let him touch me.”

He couldn’t help but think that maybe there _was_ something that he and Astrid shared after all – the capacity for cruelty. How wretched his cousin had looked. How despondent. It made perfect sense. The perfect Hel for Snotlout Jorgensen: to be married to Astrid and unable to touch her, hold her, _fuck_ her.

There was only one appropriate response to this information. Other women would want soft caresses, kisses that fluttered like butterflies across their lips and skin. Other women would want sweet words and promises given in the dead of the night. But Astrid was not swayed by delicacy. She never had been. Hiccup’s arm curled around her waist and yanked her unkindly from the ladder, pressing her back against the rungs and kissing her mouth with unbridled passion, backed by bruising force. Her response was equally violent, her fingers knotted ferociously in his hair, teeth clashing against Hiccup’s.

They broke apart, breathing heavily. Hiccup’s eyes fell to her swollen lips, wondering if they’d always been so red or if they’d drawn blood in their fervour. Astrid’s eyes lingered on his lips and Hiccup swallowed hard.

“You should go,” he said with very real difficulty.

Astrid nodded, brow furrowed in shock and confusion. She turned without looking back, climbing up the ladder rapidly. Hiccup heard her footsteps racing along the deck as she ran from the ship, fading away when they hit the dock and kept running.

Toothless sidled up beside him and Hiccup laid a hand on his head, the fingers of his free hand brushing against his lips. He glanced at his dragon and smiled, tight and hard and real. The dragon warbled quietly.

“Soon, bud,” he murmured, grinning, “Soon.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POV SHIFT IN THIS CHAPTER

He was awake when she came into the hall. Their hall. He’d been staring at the ceiling and shivering in their bed. _Their_ bed. Although he wasn’t entirely sure that he could even call it _their_ hall. They weren’t really a _they_ , were they? Astrid wouldn’t let him touch her and he had long since given up trying. He’d stopped trying when they were sixteen and Hiccup had disappeared. That’s when Astrid had changed. That’s when she’d withdrawn and flinched away from not only him, but all of them.

She’d rather be a shield maiden than be married to him. She’d told him so, straight to his face on their wedding night. She’d tolerated his removal of the bridal crown in front of their witnesses, his father glowing with misplaced pride from the doorway. Snotlout was glad the witnesses had cleared out after that little display, glad they hadn’t been there to witness her repulsion or the way she’d caught his wrist in her hand when he reached up to touch her cheek. Her eyes – those perfect blue eyes – had burned with unfettered contempt.

“Don’t touch me,” she’d uttered, the words trembling on her tongue.

“But--”

She’d sneered at him, her face still pretty even when contorted into such an ugly, mean expression. “This was never my choice, Snot. Ever.”

Snotlout had let her stalk across the room then, as far away from him as she could get. He’d watched her as she laid a fur down by the fire and curled up on top of it, still dressed in the fine dress befitting of the wife of the future chief. He remembered looking at her, watching the firelight glint off of gold tresses that he would never be allowed to touch, and wondering if she’d be like this to Hiccup if he were still alive. He’d comforted himself that night with the idea that she would be, that this was not a singular, _personal_ rage that held her, and then he’d closed his eyes and slept in their bed, thinking that tomorrow he’d try again. He’d thought that every night since their wedding night. He’d tried to ply her with alcohol, with words, with gifts.

Astrid didn’t want him. In the past he wouldn’t have let that deter him. In the past he would have kept trying because women liked persistence, didn’t they? It showed a certain strength of character, the willingness to persevere through hardship. But that was _before_. That was when he was whole and didn’t need help getting into the bath. That was when he was the bravest warrior on Berk. Now he wasn’t quite fast enough; now he stumbled. Now Astrid had to provide for him.

Snotlout knew that despite his status, he wasn’t half of what he could have been, what he once _was_. And even though he’d like to pretend that he hadn’t seen what he’d seen in the Great Hall tonight – _his_ wife watching the lost heir with fascination that went beyond simple curiosity – he _had_ seen it. And what was worse, it hadn’t actually hurt. Because he’d known that his cousin had been the change in Astrid. Snotlout had never had Astrid. Never at any point. And now she was even more lost to him; even further from his reach. Which would have mattered if he were still reaching for her.

He’d known she would go to him tonight. Snotlout had known that Astrid wouldn’t be able to stay away from Hiccup. He knew because he recognized the look in her eye – the inability to look away, the captivation with each word that hung from his lips, the rippling of emotion that Snotlout had begun to think was lost on her entirely. He knew because he’d felt that sort of _infatuation_ himself. Not with Astrid – not with his _wife_ – but with… It didn’t really matter anymore, did it? Everything was broken; Berk was broken. But at least he had seen _Astrid_ earlier, the girl he hadn’t seen since they were fifteen and their training group was whole. When he was whole.

Her footsteps were light on the stairs, but Snotlout recognized them. Automatically, he rolled onto his side and closed his eyes, feigning sleep and avoiding an argument. There was no point in picking a fight he wouldn’t win, especially knowing he wasn’t interested in winning anyway. Somewhere in his core, his competitive nature sparked at the thought of Hiccup. Older, interesting, _capable_ Hiccup. His cousin who once had everything and had returned to Berk with nothing only to somehow have _everything_ all over again. Including both his legs and Astrid’s attention. Snotlout was forever wanting what Hiccup had, always and completely. This was no different.

“Snot?” Astrid called gently.

Snotlout kept his expression and breath neutral and even; he did not answer. He wouldn’t. Not now. Then they would have to acknowledge where she’d been and who she’d been with and maybe even what she’d done. It was easier to stay quiet. Easier to leave it alone. Easier not to know. He heard her drop her armoured skirt to the ground, heard her clothing shifting as she changed. He was so far gone from even wanting to imagine what she must look like, skin lustrous in the dying glow of the fire, hair unbound and silken, her body lean and perfect and untouched.

Untouched by him, anyway.

Snotlout squeezed his eyes shut tightly as she crawled into the bed beside him. She settled under the furs, the heat of her body radiating through his thin nightshirt and spreading along his back. It was as close as he had ever been to touching her, as close as he’d ever be. She was quiet for a while, still and unmoving, her breathing even. For one flawless moment, Snotlout thought she was asleep. He thought they’d have peace tonight.

Then she moved.

It was different from the other times – the times she’d shift and roll and end up waking him so they could argue into the night. Or fight, sometimes physically. He was her own personal sparring partner and though he could hold his own against her, he preferred the nights where she drifted off instead of dragging him into her misery with her. But tonight was different. The shifting was gentler, quieter, and certainly didn’t involve him. His heart started to pound, his eyes wide open and staring into the darkness of the room as her breath quickened and hitched, the small, quiet movements under the furs faster and more desperate. He knew what she was doing: touching herself, _pleasuring_ herself.

Snotlout couldn’t move; he couldn’t breathe. She would kill him if she knew he’d heard her. She would pummel him. It would almost be worth it to watch the rage spread across her features, a thin layer of sweat on her brow, as he interrupted her before climax. It would almost be _fair_. Just as he was preparing himself to roll over, to distract her, to _pick a fight_ , she called out a name in a hushed, high-pitched gasp. The word froze him, reminded him that she was not his and never had been, that their fights were just that – _fights_. She wasn’t meant for him.

Another unintelligible sound escaped her lips, again followed by that name: “Hiccup.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

                A week was all it had taken. A week of Hiccup, Stoick’s long lost son, and all of Berk was entranced. Snotlout was sick of hearing about him. Oh, how clever he was. Oh, how tall he was. Oh, how Stoick had raised such a charming young man. A young man who was fit to be chief. And why shouldn't he be, the villagers had begun to murmur when they thought Snotlout couldn’t hear them. Why shouldn’t Hiccup be chief? Initially, Snotlout agreed. Why _shouldn’t_ he be chief? It was his birthright. It was Hiccup’s burden to bear that had only been dropped on Snotlout’s shoulders after years of wheedling by his father.

                And everyone knew that having Snotlout as chief meant they had _Spitelout_ as chief. Or at least, that’s what Snotlout let them believe. The truth was far more complicated than that. The truth was that Snotlout had no intention of allowing his father to dictate anything once he was chief. Once he was chief – but maybe that wasn’t even a possibility anymore.

                Hiccup was constantly at his father’s side, sharp green eyes watching and waiting. Snotlout wasn’t sure how he knew this, but he did. There was something calculating in his cousin’s expressions; something _other_. Something that hadn’t been there before, when they were boys and Hiccup was smarter than everyone. Smarter, but weaker. Snotlout knew that Hiccup was still smarter than everyone, but he wasn’t so sure about weakness. His time away from Berk had turned him into a man and though he was still thin and slight, Hiccup could not easily be described as weak.

                It wasn’t Hiccup’s physique that concerned Snotlout anyway. It was the way he hung back; it was the graciousness he projected. It felt false. At first Snotlout had wondered if he felt this way because of Astrid, but the more he watched Hiccup, the more he noticed the change. Hiccup lacked sincerity, even with Astrid. It was…it was almost as though a light had been snuffed out of his eyes. It was almost as though that which made Hiccup _Hiccup_ had been taken from him. So, Snotlout watched and waited, too. Watching for a sign; waiting for an opportunity to show that the young man who’d washed up on their shores, though he wore the skin and face of their missing heir, he was not Hiccup.

                Spitelout hadn’t taken well to Hiccup’s return and spent most of his time trying to gain Stoick’s ear, trying to talk him down from what was the inevitable choice. Snotlout knew it and had always known it. As it was with Astrid, Snotlout was only a poor substitute for Hiccup. Second best to a talking fishbone. If he still had his leg; if he still had his dignity, Snotlout would straight out challenge Hiccup. But if he still had those things, he wouldn’t have to, would he? He’d be the ideal heir, the ideal husband. Snotlout still sat to Stoick’s right, but the chief was constantly looking to his _left_ , to his son.

                So it was at the council meeting. Stoick was so distracted by Hiccup’s presence, by the low, nasal murmur of whatever it was that Hiccup was talking about at any given time that Snotlout had ended up making more decisions than ever before. It was the first time he’d been allowed to pass judgement or hear grievances unhindered. His father too far away to pinch his leg to his will; Stoick too distracted to provide any response other than to agree to all of Snotlout’s decisions. It wasn’t until the topic of dragons came up that Hiccup stopped his incessant low talking and chuckling.

                “The last raid was two weeks ago,” Steen Ingerman declared, “We can’t expect them to stay away forever.”

                “They won’t. They _can’t_.”

                Snotlout frowned at his cousin, as did much of the council. Hiccup didn’t have a place on council, not technically, not yet. Stoick hadn’t given him a seat, hadn’t taken the role of heir away from Snotlout, but it wasn’t him speaking out of turn that had caught their attention. It was Hiccup’s words.

They all knew that he’d come to them in a dragon trapping ship, but he had yet to regale them with his tales. How did he come by the ship? Was he a trapper? Hiccup hadn’t spoken of dragons at all, but every single person on that council had seen him leave on the back of a Night Fury ten years ago. Not taken. Not killed. Willingly. No one had spoken of it. No one asked where his Night Fury was now. Snotlout wondered, though. He watched Hiccup through narrowed eyes as his cousin feigned that wide-eyed innocence that he used to come by naturally. There was no way in Hel that Snotlout believed it for a second, not with the way his _wife_ kept disappearing and returning late at night. Not with Stoick hanging off his every word.

“Why can’t they?”

Snotlout was surprised to hear his own voice speaking the words so harshly, so accusatorily. With authority. Hiccup’s cold gaze locked onto him and Snotlout stifled an involuntary shiver.

                “They serve a queen, of course,” he replied evenly.

                The council meeting had erupted then, member shouting, demanding to know how Hiccup knew about a dragon queen. Stoick’s eyes had lit up and Snotlout had fought the urge to drop his hand to his uncle’s wrist and give him a shake, remind him that a week ago they’d been coming up with plans to nestle the villagers in the tunnels beneath Berk’s surface. To protect their own. The sheen in Stoick’s eyes now was familiar to Snotlout. It was the same self-serving, manic look that had caused Snotlout to lose his leg, that had ended in the deaths of so many, that had led _her_ to madness. Stoick had war on his mind and nothing anyone said would convince him otherwise.

                The meeting had broken up not long afterward with members threatening Hiccup, threatening each other. Snotlout had watched as his cousin leaned back in his chair, lean arms crossed and the tiniest of smiles tugging at one side of his mouth. He glanced at Snotlout and held his gaze, nodding his head once before standing up and leaving the Great Hall. His mask of innocence was back on when he was asked where he was going, when he was pushed down by Silent Sven. Stoick had come to his aid and Snotlout watched his own father try to subdue the chief, to keep him from killing Sven. But Snotlout had also watched his cousin. Hiccup was no more afraid of Sven than Astrid was of Snotlout. _Intent_. That was the word that came to mind; Hiccup had _intended_ for this to happen.

                Snotlout had never been greatly regarded for his intelligence. He wasn’t going to pretend that he knew what Hiccup was up to, or why he’d come back to Berk the way he had, but he also wasn’t going to watch his cousin tear apart the village either. He wasn’t going to watch him take his wife from under his nose, or the chieftainship that Snotlout had been trained to take over. Or to start a war. Snoutlout was not a clever man; he’d been fooled enough times to know when it was happening to others. And Hiccup was making fools of them all.


	7. Chapter 7

Hiccup had to admit that his plans were panning out far better than he’d ever expected. His father was pliable, blinded by sentiment in a way that Hiccup would never have anticipated. Stoick the Vast was still formidable, still the overbearing presence that he remembered, but there was something softer about him now. Something that the fifteen year old boy who left Berk all those years ago would have been too near to recognize. Stoick loved Hiccup.

There was a twinge in his heart at the thought, a lingering remembrance of the boy he’d once been and how _touched_ he’d be to know that his father actually cared. But the man knew better. Emotions were weakness; weakness could be exploited. Hiccup had no weaknesses save one. He glanced at Toothless, curled in the corner of the ship’s compartment, sleeping peacefully. His best friend. His only friend. His confidant and companion; his accomplice and co-conspirator. They went where no one went; they slowed for no one.

“Sorry, Toothless,” Hiccup whispered.

He hated to keep the dragon confined. They had both known what it was to be trapped; to be powerless; to only dream of the sky. Hiccup was asking Toothless to do it one more time. He couldn’t afford to rush this. Berk wasn’t ready yet, but they would be. Soon. They would have no choice but to accept Hiccup’s guidance. On dragons, the Berkians knew nothing. With Gobber gone, they truly knew little except fear. But that was fine with Hiccup. Fear was something he could work with. Fear made them vulnerable.

Berk’s leadership was in a fragile state. Hiccup had felt an opening to test the waters of the council’s stability while they discussed the recent dragon raids. He knew that half of the council preferred him, the true heir, to his cousin. He knew that the other half were not fully convinced in either direction. The Jorgensons, it seemed, had not managed to endear themselves to the Hooligans in his absence. Spitelout was still too outspoken; Snotlout was still too easily molded. That being said, Hiccup wasn’t blind to the new, reserved version of his cousin. Snotlout was one to consider; one to watch. Hiccup never suffered fools, but Snotlout seemed to play the part less and less and Hiccup would need to be careful with him. Especially with Astrid.

As though on cue, he heard her near silent footsteps padding across the deck of the ship. His smile was involuntary and tight. Astrid had been too easy but surprisingly it hadn’t made him want her any less. Every moment he spent with her only made his need for her grow. It was an unexpected complication and in a desperate bid to clear his mind, he considered a late night flight to a neighboring island in search of a blonde whore to release himself into, to release _Astrid_ from his mind. The risk was too great, however. He’d have to suffer through the want and the lingering _feelings_ he had for the woman. Soon. Soon he would have her as surely as he would have Berk.

“Hiccup,” she called as she slipped through the opening to the compartment.

He turned, glancing at her as she climbed down the ladder into the darkened space below the deck. The moonlight caught her legs, highlighting the strength in her muscled thighs. Gods, he wanted her. Patience. He had to have patience. He would be a fool indeed to throw away years of planning on a woman whose regard for him could slip away as easily as it had from her own husband.

“Astrid,” he whispered back.

She smiled, demure and unsure. It was appealing in its strangeness. Hiccup had never known Astrid Hofferson to be uncertain of anything. He wondered what had happened to her over the years. He wondered if he was wrong about those on Berk. There had been loss, he’d learned. So much loss. Hiccup was whole, which was more than he could say for his cousin. Hiccup was free, which was more than he could say for Astrid. Hiccup was detached, which was more than he could say for his father. Berk was trapped in a never ending cycle of kill or be killed. Hiccup could end it. The power in that knowledge was intoxicating.

“To what do I owe this visit?” Hiccup asked, his voice light and teasing. Nauseatingly unlike himself, yet painfully familiar.

“There’s been talk in the village,” she said, her voice still hushed.

She took careful steps toward him, slowly closing the distance between them. It was like that with Astrid. Everything was careful and Hiccup was letting her hold the reigns. Or at least he was letting her believe that she was holding them. Married women were complicated. Married women were dreadfully simplistic. They were _women_. They had needs and wants like anyone else. Hiccup knew that Astrid had _needs_. He could see it in the way she looked at him. He could see it in the way she moved. But Astrid also had an unfailing sense of honour and duty. Whittling that away took time and effort. It couldn’t be done with sweeping gestures or words. Astrid was like the rocky cliffs that made up Berk, withstanding heavy blows undamaged while slowly being eroded away by the constant ebb and flow of the ocean. Hiccup had chosen the route of the ocean – slow, constant, and unyielding. He would have her. Eventually.

He took a step forward, barely encroaching on her personal space. Close enough that his breath would brush her skin when he spoke. Close enough that she parted her lips unconsciously as she looked at him.

“What are they saying?”

Astrid was silent a beat too long, swallowing with considerable effort before speaking. “Some say you should be chief. Some say you should be banished.”

“What do you say, Astrid?” he asked, his voice the barest of whispers.

She faltered and he let her. This was her choice. Her move. Her decision. She took a step backward and Hiccup swallowed the familiar feeling that rose up. Disappointment. Frustration. He kept his face neutral. He would have her. She would be his. He didn’t want her a moment sooner.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. She bit her lip as she looked up at him, eyes dark in the shadows. “You still haven’t told me where you’ve been. Or why you have a trapper ship. Or what _happened_ to you. Hiccup, you’ve come back looking like Thor escaped from Hel after ten years of… _what?_ I don’t even know.”

The pitch and volume of her voice had risen as she spoke and paced around the ship. Toothless had been roused from his slumber and watched the pair of them curiously. Hiccup nodded once to his dragon.

“Astrid,” Hiccup said softly, reaching out his hand so that his fingers barely brushed her wrist.

She paused and stared at him with wary expectation. She didn’t trust him, but she wanted to. She didn’t know him, but she wanted to believe in him. He drew in a breath, determining how much he had to tell her to win her, what lies he could get away with. But this was Astrid Hofferson. Her bright blue eyes never left his face and he knew that no lie would save him with her. It was the truth or it was nothing at all. And she was Astrid Hofferson. The truth would never leave her lips. The truth would earn him her lips.

Hiccup slid his hand from her wrist down her palm, tangling his fingers with hers. The bracing contact made his breath catch unexpectedly. He held her gaze and released a sigh.

“Toothless and I,” he paused, trying to connect to events that had happened so long ago they barely seemed real now, “We never intended to stay away so long.”

He remembered the frenzied escape from Berk. The frantic mess in the Kill Ring, his father’s voice booming out even as he and Toothless took to the air. Sometimes he wondered if he could go back, would he have changed anything? Would he have stayed and _tried_? His eyes locked on the subdued dragon against the wall. Toothless lifted his head and cocked it. Toothless was his best friend. His only friend. The Berkians only knew how to kill dragons. They would have killed Toothless. They would have left Hiccup alone forever. Though he had lived through a fate worse than death, it hadn’t been worse than Toothless’ death. He would give up every life on Berk for Toothless’.

There was a gentle pressure from Astrid’s fingers to his. It grounded him to the present and he shook his head slightly, glancing at Astrid. Gods, she was beautiful. Pure. The thought was fleeting but real: she wasn’t for him. He didn’t deserve her. Not anymore. Hiccup shook the thought away with his emergent emotions. He’d give up every life on Berk for Toothless’, even hers.

He swallowed and tried again to tell his story, this time detaching who he was now from the boy who’d made so many foolish mistakes in the past. He couldn’t change those things now. They had happened already. There was no going back.

“We were picked up by a dragon trapping crew. I wasn’t a strong enough flier then. Hel, I wasn’t a strong enough _person_ then to fight them off,” he laughed bitterly, “They took me to Drago Bludvist.”

“Who?”

Hiccup shook his head at Astrid, smiling wistfully. “It doesn’t matter now.”

“But it does, Hiccup. I want to know.” Astrid tilted her head to catch his shifting eyes.

“I was a captive,” he pushed out, surprised by how difficult the words had been to form in his mouth. He realized he’d never said them before. He’d never told this story to anyone.

“Hiccup.”

Her breathless whisper spoke volumes to Hiccup and he reminded himself what he was doing. He reminded himself that Astrid was a Berkian. Astrid was one of his people. Astrid was _his_. Berk was _his_. The past had passed. There was a prize to be won. He had to remember that simple fact.

“I—,” he started, his voice deliberately cracking on the word.

“Hiccup,” Astrid breathed, her hand disentangling from his, her arms wrapping around him in a tight embrace, “You don’t have to tell me. You don’t have to. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Hiccup curled his arms around her with just the right amount of hesitancy. He held her tentatively, as though she’d leave him if he dared to tighten his grip knowing full well that he was locking her in for the long haul. He could practically feel her clicking into her place at his side. Astrid belonged to him.

Resting his cheek against the top of her head, he tightened his grip ever so slightly and she held him closer to her.

“Thank you, Astrid,” he whispered grinning as he glanced at Toothless, who rolled his eyes in annoyance.


	8. Chapter 8

There was something in the combination of the damp winter air and the brightness of the lamplight that irritated Snotlout. He wanted to be warm in his bed, covered by heavy furs and dreaming about a time when Berk was a village worth living in. Worth dying for. Instead he was skulking around the Great Hall in the dead of the night at his father’s demand. Snotlout tried to ignore the nagging ache that centred where his leg met wood as his father started the meeting. The _secret_ meeting. The meeting that Snotlout didn’t want to have anything to do with.

“The boy is a menace. A spectre masquerading as our long lost heir,” Spitelout said, his voice passionate and commanding. The voice of a leader, or at least how a man desperate for power expects a leader to sound. “Believe me, I want Hiccup back more than anything. He’s my nephew,” Spitelout exclaimed, thumping his fist to his chest.

Snotlout rolled his eyes and scanned the room. The tired faces of the gathered men ranged from sympathetic to annoyed to blank with exhaustion. Spitelout had taken the time and effort to ensure that only those most susceptible to suggestion were present; that the men who doubted Hiccup’s claim were concentrated in one room without the looming presence of the chief. Snotlout didn’t like it. He didn’t like Hiccup, either, but this scheming was dangerous and dishonest. He’d tried to talk Spitelout out of this clandestine meeting, but his father had only responded with brutish disdain and cold words.

“Are you losing your nerve, Snot? Maybe your cousin should have his place back,” he’d said.

All Snotlout had ever wanted was to make his father proud, but even becoming heir hadn’t filled whatever insurmountable void existed between them. Snotlout was never enough. Spitelout’s pride had shone when the announcement had been made, but that light had dimmed with the loss of Snotlout’s leg, as though the severance of a limb had lessened his worth. Perhaps it had, along with a wife who despised him and a father who constantly undermined his authority.

He watched his father’s impassioned speech and wondered how often it had been practiced in front of his reflection. Spitelout wanted an uprising. He obviously wanted to ensure that Jorgenson blood would reign in Berk. Snotlout didn’t have the heart to tell him that it was unlikely given the fact that Astrid wouldn’t even undress in front of him. Astrid was more likely to come home with a Haddock heir in her belly than his own son at this rate.

She seemed to think him stupid, or maybe just blind. That he didn’t hear the way she crept out in the night, or feel her slipping into bed a few meagre hours before dawn. She’d been gone before he dressed tonight. Snotlout thought he’d care more. He thought it would have hurt more once he realized her intentions, but the only thing that hurt was his pride. Astrid had never been his; she’d been gifted to him at Stoick’s behest. If Hiccup wasn’t to rule Berk, then Astrid would. Snotlout knew this. Stoick had his ulterior designs and Spitelout had his. Hiccup had his own designs, too, and although Snotlout wasn’t sure what they were, he felt they were more nefarious than either his uncle’s or his father’s. Berk was becoming a battleground of political intrigue and it wasn’t the kind of battleground in which Snotlout had been trained to traverse. Still, he would learn.

He kept his eyes on the faces of the men in the room, watching as they argued about Hiccup’s return and Stoick’s intent for him. Wary glances were sent his way, jumping away when eye contact was made. Every man here thought Snoutlout a fool, but it was they who were the fools. This was new territory, certainly, but a battleground was a battleground and Snotlout had always excelled at warfare.

Someone stood in Snotlout’s peripheral, drawing his attention. It was Gunnar Henriksson, a fisherman who spent so little time on land Snotlout was surprised that he even cared about the affairs of the village. Snotlout only knew of him because he’d visited his hall last year with Stoick when his wife had lost her baby.

“I’d like to know what the heir thinks,” he said, his quiet voice cutting through the growing din of the hall.

Snotlout blinked at him, shocked that his opinion would even be considered. So often he forgot about his status, so often his life was plotted for him without his consent or input. He’d never considered that he might have a say in this debacle. Snotlout sat taller in his seat at the head of the table, the seat normally reserved for Stoick the Vast, and looked around the room. His heart pounded at the silence and attention. He glanced at his father, noting the frown on his lips.

Snotlout bit his bottom lip and stood up. “I think,” he started weakly, pausing as his mind fell blank.

What did he think? He thought Hiccup was who he said he was, but he also thought that the scarred, quick-witted man was not the same as the sarcastic, clumsy boy who’d left Berk ten years prior. He thought that there was something dark and sinister about Hiccup. He thought that Stoick was so blinded by his personal happiness that he couldn’t see how altered his son had become. He knew that Stoick would name Hiccup heir. It would happen eventually. It was inevitable, and glancing around the room, Snotlout knew Stoick would have a war on his hands when it happened.

There wasn’t really any reason to extricate the process, was there? It would happen on its own. If they started a mutiny now, with this handful of bitter but unsure men, they would surely lose. But if they _waited_ , if they _watched_ Hiccup, perhaps they’d have a real chance at protecting Berk.

“Well? Spit it out, son,” Spitelout said, his brows creased, a cruel twist to his lips. He was planning to dismiss whatever came out of his mouth. Snotlout knew this. Maybe that’s why he said it.

“We should wait,” he managed to push out.

Spitelout scoffed. “And why would we do that? If that boy is—“

“That boy is your nephew, father, and my cousin. That _man_ is not the boy he once was and I think we should wait until his intentions become clearer. For all we know, he could have intentions to leave Berk. This could be a visit. A short term stop,” Snotlout pressed onward, “Hiccup is not who he was when he left here.”

Snotlout could see the displeasure on his father’s face, feel it in the tension of his own muscles. Spitelout wanted a war, but a war would serve no one. A war would give Hiccup a win. Hiccup was already winning battles that Snotlout could barely understand, and this would not be another.

“The heir has a point,” Snorre Eklund said. The man was an elder and one that Snotlout was surprised to see here.

“Yes. We wouldn’t want to move against Stoick unless we’re absolutely certain,” another voice chimed in.

And then another and another. Spitelout’s glare was centred on Snotlout, but somehow he managed to keep a straight back. It was time that his father realized that he was not just a pawn in this game.

“Fine,” Spitelout said, his eyes still locked on his son, “We’ll take the advice of the heir. For now.”

Later, as the group dissipated into the frigid night, his father cornered him as he made his way back to his hall.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” he hissed, his hand closed around Snotlout’s bicep.

He glared at his father and wrenched his arm away, teetering dangerously on his false leg. “I have an idea.”

“That’s a first.”

“A war with Stoick is not what you want, Dad,” Snotlout said, his tone softening, “Not until we’re sure.”

“Marriage is making you grow soft.”

Snotlout scoffed. “You made sure to marry me to the hardest woman in Midgard. How can it?”

Spitelout’s grin was small and sharp, all edges of and danger in a way that made Snotlout remember a childhood no less difficult than his marriage. “Your claim to the chieftainship would be more solid with a son on the way. You better put a baby in her belly soon.”

Snotlout watched his father stalk away into the darkness. Whether his words had been meant maliciously or as actual advice, they told Snotlout something very important – his father didn’t know that Astrid was sneaking off in the night to be with Hiccup. And if Spitelout didn’t know, it was less likely that anyone else knew. That meant that anything he could get out of Astrid would be valuable information and he knew he’d get more out of her if she didn’t know he was seeking it. The next time she set off in the night, he’d be there, too. Come Hel or high water, no matter what he witnessed, he’d be there.


	9. Chapter 9

Astrid had never been anyone’s fool. She’d always known who she was and where she belonged in the world. That was here, on Berk, of course. Beside the future chief. Her mother had always been very, _very_ clear about that fact. Astrid wouldn’t have been surprised if her mother had demanded that the midwife tell her the sex before anything else – not if she was well or healthy, but what _sex_ is the baby? Because a boy would have been useless for her designs. Maybe that was why Astrid had tried so very hard to be one.

She watched Hiccup from her seat in the corner of the hold of his trapper ship. His long fingers stroking Toothless’ snout almost unconsciously as the dragon munched on the fish Astrid had brought for him. Both dragon and man bore scars than either would divulge. Toothless because he could not and Hiccup because he would not. Astrid’s eyes traced the line of his shoulders, pausing and reflecting over muscles that hadn’t been there ten years ago. She was surprised with herself, that she should find _Hiccup_ attractive.

It was true that he had never been her ideal man, even as children. Although that hadn’t really been Hiccup’s fault. It was hard to look at him as anything other than a means to an end back then. He was so clumsy, so small. He did everything wrong. It was hard for her to imagine a life at his side, even with her mother’s conniving, her _insistence._ Astrid remembered the conversation they’d had when she had her first cycle. Her mother had been so proud of her brood mare of a child then.

“Now Stoick will see you’re fit to bear sons and we can draw up a contract.”

Astrid had been incensed. She’d slaughtered twenty or so trees and slept in the woods that night, clutching her axe to her chest. All she had ever been to her mother was a chance to elevate the Hofferson family and then Finn had turned yellow and ruined any chance Astrid had ever had at escaping her fate as Hiccup Haddock’s wife.

Hiccup looked at her over his shoulder and offered her his strange half-smile. Astrid returned it with one of her own. She didn’t know why, but she liked the dead side of his face. She liked the scar that marred his features just as she liked the brand on his chest and the evidence of lashes on his back. It wasn’t so much that she liked to see others in pain, but more that it was evidence that he was telling her the truth. Unavoidably detained, he’d said. It was easier to believe with all the scarring; it was easier to relate to him this way. Easier to believe that he could relate to her.

Then there was that kiss.

Astrid didn’t like to think about it. It had been too raw, too real, too _much_. It represented everything her mother had wanted for her and everything she had wanted for herself. Never in her mother’s schemes was Astrid meant to be in love with Hiccup. Never was she meant to be respected and adored. She was never meant to be _happy_.

“Shouldn’t you be getting back?”

Hiccup’s voice cut through the silence of the ship. Astrid watched Toothless eating for a moment before responding. Hiccup was right. Of course he was. She should get back. Snotlout wasn’t as stupid as he pretended to be and it was only a matter of time before he called her out on all the time she’d been spending with Hiccup. She needed to be careful.

 Astrid eyes flicked to Hiccup. She needed to be careful with him, too. He wasn’t supposed to ever be like this. He was supposed to be clumsy and clever and _weird_. He was never supposed to be sharp and dark and _dangerous_. He wasn’t supposed to be _interesting_. And he was never supposed to leave her. That had never fit into any of her mother’s grand plans, when he had taken off. On the back of a dragon, no less.

A wave of anger swept over her even though she knew it wasn’t his fault that he’d been gone so long. Still, how _dare_ he return mere months after she’d been forced to marry Snotlout? How _dare_ he come back far more intriguing that he’d ever been before? It wasn’t _fair_ that Hiccup should leave after making her feel like the life she’d been condemned to might not be quite so awful only to return even _more_.

“He probably wouldn’t notice if I walked out right in front of him,” she said, her voice low.

Hiccup’s brow lowered and she was reminded of the boy who thought too hard about everything.

“Astrid,” he started, his voice soft and familiar.

Astrid hated how much it affected her. She hated that she wanted him to keep talking, about anything at all. She hated that she had to go back to Snotlout.

“Show me how to use that sword,” she said, nodding to the strange, narrow blade resting beside him.

Hiccup’s eyebrows rose and the corner of his mouth quirked as he looked from the blade beside him to Astrid. Unable to bear the swell of energy in her muscles, Astrid crossed over to him and picked it up, freeing it of its scabbard and looking at it critically. It was slim and light, unlike anything the blacksmith had made on Berk. Astrid reached out to touch the sharp side of the blade and Hiccup moved far faster than she ever expected of him.

His hand curled around her fingers, wrenching them away from the blade. They froze like that, strangely innocent despite everything, until Hiccup let go of her fingers and wiped his hand on his tunic.

“It’s very sharp,” he said quietly, his eyes resting on the blade and not her face.

“Doesn’t look like much,” Astrid said, swiping with it experimentally.

Hiccup caught her wrist mid-swipe as he shifted his body around hers, closing his hand over hers on the hilt. He ran his fingers down her free arm, his hand sliding over hers, fingers catching between hers, and brought it up to meet the other.

“You’ll need both hands,” he murmured.

A chill that had nothing to do with the damp winter air on Berk went straight down her spine when his breath hit her neck, rustling the fine hairs that had come loose of her braid. He was standing too closely to her, much too closely. Astrid should have pushed him off, but she didn’t. She didn’t want to; why should she? Because she was married. Because this was dangerous. Because she _wanted_ him even if she barely understood why.

Astrid almost let out a yelp in protest when Hiccup’s hands fell away from hers, until they landed on her hips. The heat of them seared her skin through layers of linen and wool and fur. He kicked her right foot out a few inches and she shot an irritated glare over her shoulder, one he caught with a grin that seemed almost boyish. Astrid could feel his eyes on her, eyes that never missed a detail assessing and _deciding_. Hiccup’s gaze was unlike those of men in the village. Men who viewed her less as a warrior and more as a _woman_ since her marriage. She _hated_ that.

Hiccup circled around to face her, his eyes still assessing her form with a tiny frown. His eyes darted up to meet hers and there was almost something sheepish in them, as though he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have been. Astrid liked that she still had that effect on him, even after all this time and all he’d seen and done.

“This sword isn’t like our weapons, Astrid. It’s more refined. Less about brute strength and more about precision.”

Astrid scowled. “Are you going to show me how to use it, or am I just going to stand here all day?”

Hiccup smiled at that, but didn’t answer as he took his time returning to his seat on the steps to the hold. He picked up a fish and tossed it to Toothless. Astrid considered attacking him, just to see what would happen, when his eyes met hers again.

“The first step is perseverance.”

“What does that mean?” Astrid growled, irritated.

“It means you hold the blade, just like that,” Hiccup replied.

Astrid scowled at him. “What’s the point?”

“Perseverance.”

“And how long am I supposed to just stand here?”

Hiccup grinned again. “As long as I want.”

Astrid gave him a tight smile. “What’s to stop me from cutting off your head?”

Hiccup chuckled lightly and leaned back against the steps. “Perseverance.”

“I don’t have to persevere to put a blade through your neck.”

“Well, that’s the second lesson, isn’t it? Patience.”

Astrid rolled her eyes. Patience had never been her strong suit. “Neither are going to prevent me from slitting your gullet.”

“Lost interest in my head already?”

Astrid replied with a low growl from deep in her throat and Hiccup laughed. Not a breathy chuckle, but a full laugh. It made Astrid’s heart pound unexpectedly; it made her hands falter. Hiccup smiled as fully as his scarred face would allow.

“You can put it down at any point,” Hiccup offered.

“I won’t.”

“I know.”

Astrid stood like this for eons. The gods could have come and gone; the world could have changed completely outside this hold, and still she would have held. Perseverance wasn’t a problem with her. Hiccup yawned and stretched, his tunic riding up and revealing a strip of pale skin dusted with reddish hair and a smattering of freckles. Astrid noticed too much of him. Always too much. Her arm shook as she tightened her grip and naturally he saw it.

“You should drop it,” Hiccup suggested, “If it’s too much for you.”

Astrid gave him a tight grin. “What would happen if I did?”

Hiccup tilted his head and smiled at her, an alarming thing that held only malice. “You’d be punished.”

Astrid’s blood raced and she tightened her grip on the handle, her knuckles turning white from the force.

“How?” The word slipped out before she had the chance to stop it, ill-advised and perilous on her tongue.

Hiccup’s smile widened just barely and he considered her carefully before pushing himself to his feet and circling her very slowly. He didn’t speak until he was out of her line of sight.

“My sword master would hit me across the back with a bamboo rod. Imagine that, Astrid. The hardest switch your mother could wield is nothing compared to bamboo in the hands of a sword master.”

Hiccup rapped the edge of his hand against her back, once across her shoulder blades, once beneath them, and once across the small of her back. The contact was bracing, but any contact from Hiccup was enough to startle her. The sword wavered in her hand.

“And if that wasn’t enough, he’d go for the backs of my legs,” he continued, lifting his knee and drawing it across the backs of hers gently.

Astrid swallowed, her mouth dry as parchment. She was somewhere between fury and arousal and she resented Hiccup for whatever game he was playing with her now. Because it was a game. It was _always_ a game.

“Sometimes,” he whispered as he dragged his fingertip along the shell of her ear, “he’d box my ears.”

“Just try it,” Astrid growled through gritted teeth.

She’d decided that anger was the safest emotion to focus on for the time being because that other feeling? The one that sent heat between her thighs and made her want to toss the sword on the ground so she might throw her arms around his neck? That one clearly couldn’t be trusted. _She_ clearly couldn’t be trusted.

Hiccup laughed, light and easy. If Astrid closed her eyes, she could almost believe that he was fifteen again and they had a real chance at happiness, that their group was all still alive and Hiccup had brought peace to Berk. But her eyes were wide open and Hiccup was standing before her, taller and darker and more alluring than ever before. She looked him in the eye when he spoke and thought of lush summer grass and sunshine.

“I’d never resort to those methods on you, Astrid. I doubt physical pain would drive home the lesson.”

Astrid narrowed her eyes. “Then what would you do?”

Hiccup grinned, lopsided and easy. Almost too easy. False bravado that made her heart pound even more. “I’d kiss you.”

Astrid snorted. “Some punishment.”

Hiccup’s grin widened. “It’s not the kiss that would be the punishment. No. You could tell yourself that I forced it upon you; you could tell your husband the same,” Hiccup paused as though waiting for her protestation, when none came he took a step toward Astrid, his eyes on her lips, “No, it’s not the kiss, Astrid. It’s the guilt.”

“The guilt?” Astrid repeated. She rolled her eyes at him, false bravado in the face of what the rest of her body was trying to tell her was a truth. “You just said it would be forced on me.”

“Oh,” Hiccup said softly, inching closer still, “But it wouldn’t be. The guilt would be borne of how much you wanted it.”

Astrid kept her eyes on his and tried to ignore the fact that he was so close she could count his freckles, feel his breath on her cheek. His hand ran down her arm and covered her hand on the hilt of the sword.

“If I wanted it, then why would I feel guilty?” She’d tried to push the words out with strength but they broke in her throat.

Hiccup caught her chin with his free hand and tilted her head up. His thumb brushed her bottom lip and her heart raced like a trapped Terror in a cage. “Because there’s no one more loyal than Astrid Hofferson in all of Berk. There is no one more duty bound. There is no one with more honour. And a kiss from me? A kiss that you want? Well,” he said, shrugging, “That shatters everything.”

Astrid barely registered that her breathing had hitched and her grip was loosening on the blade. She was lost in too-green eyes and the tingling of her bottom lip where his thumb had touched her.

“Maybe it just puts it all back together,” she breathed.

Hiccup’s hand tightened on hers while the other slid along her jaw and behind her neck, warm and insistent. He leaned in to whisper in her ear, steaming in the cold chill of winter.

“Drop the sword, Astrid.”

“What if I don’t want to?” Her words came out weak and shaking.

Hiccup drew his face back, his cheek so near to hers that she could feel the soft brush of his sparse stubble. His nose glanced against hers and kept his eyes cast down. She could imagine him watching her lips. She could imagine that savage kiss. She could see her whole world crumbling.

“Drop the sword, Astrid,” he whispered against her lips, his fingers making delicate circles against her sword hand.

“I hate you,” she breathed as the sword fell from her hand and their lips met.

 

 

               


	10. Chapter 10

Hiccup had climbed out of the hold and stood on the top rung of the steps to watch Astrid running from him. Again. Sleet hit his face, the stinging contact on his skin a distraction from his fraying patience with her. Bit by bit, he’d have her. He already did. He knew that from the way her fingers had been buried in his hair, from the velvet softness of her tongue against his. Unbidden, his own tongue drew out across his bottom lip. He could still taste Astrid there; he could still feel her body pressed against his.

He drew in a long, even breath, his eyes slipping closed as the precipitation intensified. Ice pellets caught in his hair, his ears burned from the cold. Hiccup opened his eyes and allowed his gaze to stray up to the shuddering torches in the village. Berk. It was _his_ just as much as Astrid was his. Half of the council had accepted him as heir readily while the other half waffled, mistrustful and always looking back to Spitelout for every decision. Stoick used to have a grasp on his brother-in-law’s ambition, but it was clear to Hiccup now that the chief of Berk had softened over the years. Hiccup hardly thought it was possible, that Stoick the Vast would wither at the loss of his son.

His _useless_ son.

Hel knew that Hiccup was hardly useless now. Nor was he blind to his uncle’s treachery. Perhaps it was Astrid and their continual dance of seduction, but Hiccup’s enduring patience was dwindling in all respects. If his cousin had any self-respect, he’d back down from his stolen inheritance and hand it back to the rightful heir willingly and without incident. Astrid was supposed to have been the more difficult prize to earn; Berk was already his. Or it should have been by now. Perhaps it was time for an intervention of sorts; perhaps it was time that Hiccup showed a glimpse of his hand to Berk.

Below him, Toothless paced restlessly in the hold. As always, Hiccup could relate to the dragon’s frustration. It had been ages since they’d flown together. Hiccup’s eyes skimmed the dark visage of the village above as the poor weather strengthened. It was an awful night to be outside between the bitter cold and the persistent, growing sleet; those on watch would be huddled by their fires. They’d barely noticed a flaming Nightmare, let alone a near invisible Night Fury. Toothless needed to stretch his wings and Hiccup needed to set his assets in motion; he needed to solidify his grasp on Berk.

Hiccup grinned down at his dragon just as Toothless glanced up and tilted his head questioningly.

“Time to go, bud.”

Hiccup hardly felt the cold as he leaned into Toothless’ body and they rose and rose and rose like a comet rejected from earth and seeking to make its way back amongst the stars. As they reached the clouds, sleet turned to rain, warm against Hiccup’s bare fingers which gripped the frigid metal rigging of Toothless’ saddle. There was a moment of sheer clarity as man and dragon burst through the clouds, escaping the angry fist of Thor that ravaged the land far beneath. Toothless felt it, too. Hiccup could feel it in the way the dragon seemed to _sigh_ as their flight evened out.

Hiccup sat up once they’d settled into a gliding pattern, and pulled off his helmet to wipe the water from his face. Toothless continued onward, warbling slightly in both contentedness and question. There was a twinge of _something_ in Hiccup’s chest. It had been a long while since he and Toothless had flown simply for the thrill of it. Between Drago Bludvist’s bloody missions and Hiccup’s own grisly endeavours, it had been a long, long while.

Hiccup ran a hand along the side of Toothless’ head. “Sorry, bud.”

Toothless grunted his unhappiness, but Hiccup could tell it had been dulled due to their current flight. The dragon could never stay angry with him and for that Hiccup was grateful. But dragons weren’t mean-spirited by nature. It was humans who held cruelty in their hearts. He was angry on behalf of Toothless. Angry that he’d had to keep his dragon cooped up in the hold of that gods awful trapper ship; angry that nothing had changed on Berk. They were still ill-advised fools with fear driving all their actions. Hiccup would show them. He would show them all.

Sliding his helmet back in place, Hiccup leaned into Toothless and spoke, “Time to find the ship, bud. Time to show them what we have.”

At his words, Toothless broke into a dive through the clouds and down, down, down, until he skimmed the angry sea with the tips of his wings. Even after everything, for all his reasons not to _feel_ , Hiccup couldn’t help the scream of elation that escaped his lips. Riding a dragon was still the most exhilarating experience he’d ever had; riding Toothless always left him with a whisper of what could have been.

They were far enough away from land so as not to be caught in the storm any longer, although the open sea did nothing to improve the bitter snap of the winter air. For anyone else finding the flagship would have been difficult in the dead of night, but Hiccup had become accustomed to late night landings in worse weather. He’d learned from the best when it came to sneak attacks and backhanded warfare; he’d learned from Drago. It was a single lantern, burning dimly from within the captain’s quarters that caught Hiccup’s eye and it was the whistle of a Night Fury that sent the crew running to the deck.

Toothless landed with soundless grace and narrowed his eyes at the crew, growling with menace until Hiccup laid a hand on his head and murmured to him in soothing tones.

“What the devil is going on here?” a familiar voice shouted.

Eret, strong and tall and brave, pushed through the crew and stood before the dragon and its rider. Hiccup could feel Toothless relax instantly. Eret’s bravery was a front; his strength though formidable was little more than a tool for Hiccup to use. The dragon knew what Hiccup knew: Eret was no threat.

Hiccup slid from Toothless and pulled off his helmet, shaking out his hair with numb fingers. His eyes met Eret’s and he smirked at the way the older man’s face fell as soon as he recognized both the man and the dragon.

“Don’t look so happy to see me,” Hiccup joked. His smirk deepened as the older man swallowed visibly.

“Of c-course I’m happy to see you, Hiccup. We’ve been waiting for you, just like you ordered.”

Hiccup gave him a tight smile as his eyes flitted around the crew. All men that Hiccup knew well, some better than others. All men who had been firmly under Drago’s massive thumb for far too long. Loyalty was an easy purchase when all he’d had to do was show less cruelty than his predecessor, even just slightly.

Hiccup pushed past Eret to the edge of the hold. Several pairs of yellow eyes blinked up at him. He dropped to his knees and pushed his hand through the opening toward the closest dragon.

“They’re all here?”

“All those you asked for. Every single one. We might have lost five or six men in the transfer,” Eret added the last bit quietly, as though he expected Hiccup’s rage and nothing less.

Hiccup shrugged as the dragon in the hold sniffed his fingers with hot huffs of air, reeking of the heavy scent of kerosene. “A small price to pay,” he muttered.

The dragon finally pressed its nose into Hiccup’s hand, eliciting a genuine smile from him. “That’s right, Flametongue. It’s me.”

These dragons were his. Not in the way that they had been Drago’s, not held with force and abuse, but freely kept and cared for, each dragon well-acquainted with Hiccup himself. They chose to be his just as the people of Berk would also choose to be his.

Hiccup stood up and faced Eret, who bit his bottom lip nervously. Hiccup narrowed his eyes at the older man, considering. Eret didn’t have the backbone to betray him. Hiccup had always known that from the moment the man had entered Drago’s employ and done nothing to help the boy he’d once been. A boy held against his will, a boy treated no better than the dragons that Drago had kept underfoot. A prize, a toy, a weapon. Eret didn’t have the _heart_ to turn on Hiccup. He never would.

Hiccup turned from Eret and climbed back onto the Night Fury, setting his helmet back upon his head.

“Set them free at midday,” he commanded as he readied himself for lift off, “Every last one of them, straight for Berk.”


	11. Chapter 11

He should never have waited for Astrid to come back to the Hall. He should never have confronted her. Snotlout knew that now, nursing a bruised jaw, the sound of her shrill voice still reverberating in his skull. They’d never been friends, not even before Hiccup had disappeared, and despite the fact that everyone seemed to think he was an idiot, he wasn’t – he knew she resented him for their marriage. And now that Hiccup was back, it had become very apparent as to _why_.

Astrid Hofferson wanted to be with Hiccup Haddock. To marry him. To bear his children. To be wife to the chief, so long as the chief wasn’t Snotlout. But she couldn’t because she was _his_ wife, whether she liked that fact or not. And no matter what, as it stood, Snotlout was still the heir of the tribe. Her hands were tied, indisputably, to his.

He was getting a little tired of this mess, to be honest. Not that Berk had been a particularly sunshiney place to live before Hiccup came back, but now the tribe was on the brink of civil war with Snotlout’s father riling the masses. Snotlout’s hold on the tribe was only as strong as Spitelout’s gathered might.

Still, Snotlout kept watching. He watched Astrid. He watched Hiccup. And Stoick, and Spitelout, and anyone else who seemed a little suspect. Hiccup had something in that boat. Snotlout was sure of it. Something besides _Astrid_. Maybe it was that Night Fury he’d flown away on all those years ago. Maybe it was something even worse. (Was there anything worse than a Night Fury? Snotlout really didn’t know and he wasn’t sure he wanted to, even if it was true.)

Berk was hanging in the balance, dangling from the precipice in uncertainty. All was not well in the archipelago, even if Snotlout couldn’t quite put his finger on what was wrong. But he couldn’t take on all of his problems at once, so he chose to think about the problem closest to home: Astrid. Her breaths were as silent as a summer breeze as she lay curled up in furs by the fire. She wouldn’t lay in the bed with him, not after their _conversation_.

“Are you sleeping with him?”

Even Snotlout had to admit that it probably hadn’t been the best opener, even less so when he said it as soon as she came through the door.

“Snot?” she’d asked, squinting her eyes in the darkness.

He’d sat at the table, waiting for her. He knew she’d come home eventually after he saw her creep into the hold of that boat. She had nowhere else to go.

“Are you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Hiccup.”

She’s come into the light then, steps away from him, brow heavy and lips so obviously kiss-bruised.

“No.”

Snotlout had laughed bitterly at her conviction, especially as she stood before him bearing the evidence. Still, it wasn’t in her to lie.

“What does he keep down there?”

Astrid had rolled her eyes and started to walk away, but Snotlout hadn’t wanted to play that particular little game, so he’d grabbed her arm and stood his ground. It happened fast; he’d moved like he used to, before the loss of his leg had slowed him. Before Astrid had worn down his wavering resolve to be _someone_. She’d glared up at him with more fire than he’d seen in her in the last ten years.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Snotlout,” she said through gritted teeth.

Snotlout had leaned in and sniffed her, really made a show of it. She smelled like the sea and the musky scent of a dragon. She smelled like a wild thing.

“Does he have a dragon?” Snotlout asked, his voice a bare whisper, “Or is it just him that smells like a beast?”

Astrid had hit him then, a walloping right hook that came out of nowhere. In retrospect, he’d deserved it. He hadn’t exactly been himself, but damned if he would be made a fool of by his own wife with his own cousin. The hit had surprised him enough for his grip to loosen and Astrid had used that to her full advantage, twisting out of his hold and knocking out his fake leg.

She’d leaned over him then, with eyes like ice and a voice like a raging inferno.

“Be careful, Snot. He isn’t a little boy anymore.”

“You’re my _wife_ ,” Snotlout hissed out through the pain.

“I’m no one’s possession,” she spat back, “Not yours. Not his.”

“I wonder if he knows that.”

It had been brief, the smallest of lapses, but in her eyes Snotlout had seen the indecision that she felt. It made him believe her; that she wasn’t sleeping with Hiccup. That she hadn’t fallen through quite as far as he’d suspected. But she _was_ falling.

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” she’d said, turning from him and disappearing through dark hallways to their room.

No, he should never have confronted her like that, but at least he had a better idea where she stood. Astrid’s loyalty was a dangerous thing, wholly given and very difficult to dislodge once it had taken hold. She was loyal to Berk above all else. It’s why they were married. She’d married him for the good of the tribe. Everything she did was for the good of the tribe. It’s why she wavered now. Her hesitation told him that she didn’t quite know where Hiccup stood in terms of Berk. Or, perhaps, she _did_ and she didn’t like it. Although the latter option seemed unlikely. Astrid wasn’t a woman given over to flights of romantic fancy – if she felt Hiccup was a clear threat, she’d be spending all her time working _against_ him, not sneaking into the hold of his boat.

Astrid was as inconstant and unreliable as the diffident crowd that Spitelout had gathered for his would-be revolution. She teetered on a fine line.

Something had to give and soon. Something had to happen. And it would. Snotlout could feel it in his bones as sleep finally took him that night, a threat hovering in and around Berk. A threat named Hiccup.

Astrid was gone when Snotlout woke, which was just as well. Snotlout had no desire to fight with her again. He had no desire to fight at all. He pulled himself out of bed and dressed, pulling on his leg and readying himself for whatever nightmare this day would hold. It was too much, the constant discord. It made him wish for a time when everything made sense, a time when he knew what it was to laugh. To love. To be needed.

In the late morning sun, Snotlout found himself climbing the steps to Gothi’s hut, high above Berk, high enough that he walked through misty clouds to reach her home. It was a wonder she lived in such an inaccessible place when she was the best healer in Berk. Snotlout paused in the pathway, a wave of melancholy washing over him. Gothi was the best healer in Berk, but she still hadn’t been able to heal _her_. He pulled in a shaking breath and continued his climb. As always, when his mind was clouded and he needed clarity, he came to _her_. She reminded him of lighter times and of lost friends; she reminded him of what it was to be in love.

Gothi was waiting with hooded eyes and a half smile. She said nothing, as she had for the last sixty years, but she did step out of his way and point him toward the platform on the edge of the cliff. Snotlout hurried through her hut, his heart pounding.

His breath caught when he saw her, as it always did. She was dressed in a long, linen dress, with a deep grey wool overdress, so unlike her tunics and leggings of the past. Her long white blonde hair was gathered into one heavy braid that rested against her back, between her narrow shoulders. She was humming something – a tuneless melody that no doubt meant something to her and nothing to anyone else. Snotlout took a cautious step forward, watching her long fingers as she played with the dirt in the potted plant she had in front of her.

“Hey, Ruff,” he whispered.

Her shoulders stiffened and she glanced over her shoulder at him, eyes wide. She smiled slightly. “Snotty.”

Snotlout grinned. She was having a good day. Good days were so much better than the days where she didn’t know who he was or where she was or who _she_ was. She knew her name today; she knew _his_ name. She went back to humming and Snotlout lowered himself to sit next to her on the edge of the platform, staring out at the cloud-drenched sky and the peaks of the buildings below. Snotlout was loath to interrupt her quiet work. But he hadn‘t come here to be alone; he hadn’t come here to be silent.

“Hiccup’s back.”

Ruffnut’s fingers slowed and she turned to look at him. “Back?”

Snotlout turned, hoping against hope that she remembered who Hiccup was and how he’d left. She blinked at him curiously.

“He’s different, Ruff. He’s _wrong_.”

Ruffnut shrugged and turned back to her plant, silent for a beat too long. “That’s what happens when you come back from the dead. Just ask my idiot brother.”

Snotlout sighed. Maybe it wasn’t such a good day after all. Snotlout would take the days when she forgot Tuffnut over _these_ days – the days where she was sure there were undead walkers in the village.

“Tuffnut isn’t back,” he sighed.

Ruffnut gave him a disdainful glare. “I’ve seen him.”

“Fine. Fine, you’ve seen him. But Ruff, Hiccup _is_ back.”

Ruffnut yanked the plant she’d only just planted back out of its pot. “Then the dragons didn’t eat him.”

“I guess not. He has some pretty good scars, though.”

They sat in silence, watching the bustling village below. There was a peace up there in the clouds, away from the brewing strife and controversy that Hiccup’s sudden return had wrought. Ruff toyed with the dirt in her little potted plant and tilted her head.

“Hiccup came back,” she murmured, “but maybe the dragons took his soul.”

Snotlout turned to her sharply, but her eyes had already clouded over and her tuneless song had returned to her lips. She’d forgotten all about Hiccup. She’d probably forgotten about him, too. Ruffnut’s mind was full of holes.

“Ruff?”

“Hm?”

“You should run away with me,” he whispered, knowing it was pointless. A hopeless dream that would never come true.

Ruffnut laughed and punched his shoulder with too much force. “You don’t know when to quit, Snot. You know I’m marrying Fish—“

She stopped, all the levity draining from her at once. Her brow furrowed and Snotlout knew he’d made a horrible mistake.

“Ruff, I’m sorry I—“

But it was too late. The sound started somewhere deep within her chest, a keening wail that had yet to meet her lips. It was why she’d been moved to Gothi’s hut, out of hearing and out of sight. Her inhuman wailing unsettled the Hooligans in the village. Her mouth opened and Snotlout winced as the sound filled the air, aimless and despairing. Gothi came running, whacking Snotlout with her staff and pointing her finger at the hut. He didn’t need to be told twice. He was to leave and probably not return for several weeks. Last time it had been upwards of a month.

Ruffnut’s endless cry of rage and mindless sadness followed Snoutlout down the side of the cliff, a horrible soundtrack to his miserable existence. Still, somehow, despite her distinct lack of sanity, his visits with Ruffnut always grounded him. Perhaps it was simply the reminder that all things can be lost – not just legs and lives, but minds, too. Or perhaps it was the fact that he still loved her, even despite everything, even when she forgot who he was. Even before that, when she’d accepted Fishlegs’ proposal over his own. Snotlout was never meant to be lucky in love. He must have offended Frigga at some point. But still, there he was, married to the untouchable Astrid Hofferson and pining over the mad Ruffnut Thorston, inevitably alone forever.

Snotlout heard screams of a different nature when he was about a third of the way down path followed by the distinctive tones of the horn.

Dragons.

Snotlout set himself to his clumsy running, sliding and stumbling over loose pebbles on the path, cursing and drawing his sword. There was a distinctive roar and he felt the Helfire before he saw them.

“Dragon attack,” he breathed.

When they came into sight, there were the usual suspects – Nightmares, Nadders, Gronckles and Zipplebacks – and then there were others unlike any he had seen on Berk before, species that weren’t in the Book of Dragons. Large, fire breathing giants that set Snotlout’s jaw with resolve and sent him charging into the fray. The loss of his leg hadn’t made him shy away from a battle in the same way it had made him hide from _life_ , if anything it had made him throw himself into it even more. With each swing of his sword, he felt more and more alive. If he could kill a dragon, he could feel worthwhile again. If he could slay just one of them, maybe Stoick would remember why he’d named him heir. If he could prove his worth, maybe Hiccup would learn his place.

There was power in Snotlout’s swings. There was _purpose_. Here was something he knew well – how to kill a dragon. Somewhere to his left, he spotted Astrid, blood-spattered and glowing. This was where they excelled. This was one thing that they could absolutely agree upon and one thing that Hiccup couldn’t take from them, even if he’d taken any hope of salvaging their marriage with his unexpected arrival.

“Look!”

The shout came from behind Snotlout and he turned, following the enthralled gaze of his fellow Vikings. There, on the highest cliff at Raven Point, was Hiccup. Shoulders back and spine straight, he was surrounded by a swarm of those massive, unfamiliar dragons. The dragons that had been fighting the Berkians took flight and joined the swarming mass around Hiccup. Snotlout heard the anguished cry of Stoick the Vast somewhere beside him.

There were only brief glimpses of Hiccup visible through the swirling abyss of dragons. His hand was extended, his eyes locked on the dragon immediately in front of him. Snotlout remembered this, he remembered Hiccup – small, but fearless, hand extended to the Nightmare that Astrid later slaughtered, just before chaos had erupted in the Kill Ring, just before the Night Fury had taken him away.

There was a collective gasp from the Berkians when his palm made contact with the dragon’s nose. The mass that circled him seemed to disperse enough for all of Berk to see Hiccup making non-violent contact with the dragon. There was an instant when the dragon hovered there, its great yellow eyes fixed on Hiccup, and then it shot up into the air and roared, the sound echoing through the village. The dragon took off, headed over the sea, its brethren fast behind it, all leaving Hiccup standing there unharmed.

Snotlout’s frown fell into place unbidden and he couldn’t help but think of Ruffnut’s words earlier: _Maybe the dragons took his soul._

 

 

               


End file.
